Page 32 of Company of Thieves
“Er ... yeah, let’s just say that.” She smiled. “I think you’re going to like this.”
“I have no dou—hrng!” He gasped when her hands slid along the length of him, the oil warm and slippery and causing a friction that he hadn’t known was possible. His hips bucked when she slid her hands up and down a few times before pouring out a bit more oil, which she used to rub into his balls and surrounding area. He had no idea why she felt like she had to oil all of him up when it was just his cock that wanted the attention, but the second she wrapped one hand around his hard length while using the other hand to gently pull on his testicles, he decided she was wise beyond her years. “Lord, woman, where did you learn to—would you do that again? No, with your left hand. Hrng. Where did you learn to do this?”
“My last boyfriend. He taught me something else you might like. Let’s see. ... I think it’s just about here.”
She slid her fingers back from his testicles, and for a moment, he thought she might be about to breach an area he preferred to remain unbreachable, but she stopped short of that, and did a little circular rubbing motion that, when joined with the strokes her other hand was making, almost had him crossing his eyes. “No one has ever—lord, yes, right there—touched me like that.”
“You’ve never had a hand job, or no one has done the perineum massage?”
“The latter. You’re not—you’re going to—” Words jumbled up on his lips as she bent her head and licked the underside of his cock, the warm, soft swirl of her tongue damn near making him lose control.
“My ex-boyfriend used to swear by two knuckles. Let’s see if you are go with it, too,” she said, gently pressing two knuckles in the pleasurable spot near his testicles while her mouth engulfed him, the slight negative pressure combined with her tongue teasing the tip of him suddenly too much.
He had her on her back with her legs spread before he realized that he’d even moved. “I am go with it. Very go with it. Too go, as a matter of fact. Tell me you’re ready for me.”
“Sweetie, I was ready for you the minute I woke up,” she cooed, sliding her hands down his back, using her nails just enough to push his need for her over the edge. He thrust hard into her, relishing the moan of pleasure that he caught in his mouth, his hips pistoning, his mind filled with the feel of her, and taste of her, and the warm, familiar scent of orange wrapping around them.
“Is this too much for you?” he managed to ask, tearing his mouth from where he was nibbling on her neck. “I will slow down if it is. It may kill me, but I will do it.”
“God, no. I told you, I’m very quick off the mark. I like it hard and fast. ...” Her words trailed off into yet another moan when he slid his arms under her legs, pushing them up against her body, his hips moving with a rhythm that seemed to match the beat of his heart. Her legs tightened, her pelvis arching up, her eyes wide with the pleasure that consumed her. Muscles gripped him with a strength that pushed him beyond what a mere mortal man could bear, causing him to buck wildly while he poured himself into her, every muscle, every sinew of his body straining to join with her in the most fundamental way he knew how.
“Boy,” she said some time later, a long time later, possibly an eon or two later. “You sure liked the two knuckles.”
“Yes,” he answered, lying exhausted on his back, Hallie draped over him, feeling as if someone had replaced every bone in his body with sodden noodles. “You have my permission to use both knuckles on me whenever the urge strikes you. Nightly is good. Possibly mornings, as well, and if I’m able to get away from my duties, afternoons, early evenings, and that time in late morning when you’re a little hungry, but it’s not quite time for a meal.”
She giggled, and kissed the nipple nearest her mouth. “You’re on.”
A thought struck him then, one that he, as a gentleman—even if Akbar was not, Alan most definitely was—should offer. “We did not use a French preventative. Would you care for me to do so in the future?”
“A French—oh, that’s the name for condoms here. Thank you for offering, but I don’t think it’s necessary. Unless you have a venereal disease that you want to tell me about. But chemo did a number on me, so I don’t have to worry about anything else happening.”
He wasn’t familiar with a preparation called chemo, but he assumed it was what American women used to prevent unwanted pregnancies. “I’m glad to hear that we won’t need to use them. I would if you desired, but it is much more pleasant for both of us if we can dispense with them.”
“I suppose we should get up,” Hallie said, stretching in a way that reminded him of a cat in a pool of sunshine.
“We should. I have many things to do.” He continued to lie there, boneless, his entire body sated and thrumming with the glow of lovemaking.
“Maybe after a quick nap,” she said, yawning, and snuggled into his side, one leg draped over him.
A nap sounded exactly like what he needed.
He was in the mess a few hours later, telling Az that he wanted a security detail to be assigned to Hallie. “She’s not to leave camp on her own. The revolutionaries would take her in a second if they found her—”
He heard the intake of several breaths and turned to look down the length of the mess to see what suddenly had his men, most of whom were hurriedly consuming breakfast, so shocked.
Hallie strolled into the room wearing one of Leila’s gowns, a favorite blue one that he decided looked much better on Hallie.
She gave him a bright smile before greeting the men seated, moving over to where a table had been set up with a variety of foods. “Oh, it all looks so good. Is that yogurt? Awesome. I love yogurt.”
And that’s when Alan noticed that she was wearing just part of the blue ensemble, just the long tunic, and no trousers. Hallie’s legs, her deliciously smooth, silky legs, were clearly visible up to midthigh as she moved, the side slits on the tunic allowing flashes of flesh to tantalize anyone with a pair of eyes in his head.
His gaze moved over to two long tables around which his crew sat. They all, to a man, stared unblinking at the sight of Hallie serving herself a dish of yogurt and fruit before she hesitated over a plate of sticky buns. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared, feeling every inch Akbar. He marched over to her, wanting to wrap her in a blanket or two.
“Jesus!” she said, jumping a few inches. “Just scare the crap out of me, why don’t you? Are these your personal sticky buns or something?”
He stared at her, wondering if she was doing this on purpose, or if he’d suddenly gone stark, staring mad. “What?”
“The buns,” she said, gesturing toward them. “I won’t take them if it’s not allowed, although you should put a sign up saying they’re for Your Holy Royal Imperial Majesty. Sheesh!”
